


The Things You Gave Your Life To, Broken

by extradimensional



Series: If— [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Between Act II and III, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hawke is a sad boy, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extradimensional/pseuds/extradimensional
Summary: He could feel it, his power radiating in his fingertips. It wasn’t as if Carver had Silenced him before he left or someone drugged him with mage’s bane. It was still there, but when he tried to access it, his magic decided to disobey.Suddenly Fenris took a step back. “Oh,” he said, his face still as a statue.“Oh? My magic is gone and you’re ‘oh’-ing?”
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Series: If— [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750987
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

"We can't invite her. Mother _hated_ her."

“Carver, Mother hated a lot of people. In fact, if we went down this list, she would likely have disapproved of about half the names on here,” Garrett snapped. They had been going over the guest list forever. They had been fortunate enough to grow up as common folk in Ferelden, where they had no one to impress and happily had no cause for all this society shite. 

Since coming to Kirkwall, even better yet, since coming to _High Town,_ they had left all this nonsense to Leandra as she was the expert but now…

Now she’s gone. 

Their mother was dead and now Garrett and Carver had to act like adults. The least they could do was give her a funeral worthy of the woman she was. 

“What about Cullen?” Hawke asked, moving his hand in swoosh to rekindle the fire. Only small embers sparked instead of a roaring flame. It took two more attempts for the crackling to turn into a bright orange roar. 

“You want to invite the Knight-Captain?” Carver tilted his head to the side, looking much like the dog many people still mocked-compared them to. His voice sounded unsure but pleasant, not annoyed for once. 

Hawke shrugged. “Why not? Other than the one time he told me mages weren’t people, he seems like a decent bloke. It would be nice to have someone from home here too. Besides, Meredith would come into our house over my cold and ripped apart body and if we’re trying to be civil and inclusive...Or is it inappropriate to invite a senior officer? I admit, I don’t know much about Templar rules.” 

Which was a _blessing_ and something he’d like to continue, thank you very much. 

“Alright. We can invite Cullen,” Carver agreed, scribbling down his name on the haphazard list. 

Hawke watched on silently, something quite uncharacteristic of him, but he was suddenly struck with the realization that had _missed_ his brother. Sure, the two of them scwabled like old women and all three of the people who could mediate the peace between both brothers were dead now, but this was the longest stretch of time they had ever been apart. Even at Ostagar, they had fought mostly side by side. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but Hawke hadn’t felt much better about anything since they had lost Mother. 

“Brother?” Hawke asked, his mouth asking the question before his mind could stop him. “Are you happy?” 

Carver looked up from the drying ink, his eyes narrowing at the question while his empty hand tapped on the table. “What makes you ask?” 

“Well, at the time, joining the Order seemed like a rushed decision. But you might have been thinking about it for years. Who knows what goes on in that head of yours?” 

An awkward silence filled the study and if Hawke had to make a guess, Carver was doing it on purpose. 

“Yes, brother. I’m happy. Don’t get me wrong, there are certain things within Circle life that I’m not a fan of. As much as I’m loath to admit it, I’ve discovered that you and Father have— _shaped_ my outlook on mages. Most Templars don’t have any in their families, never mind apostates.”

“Well, Carver, if you really miss me I’m sure Meredith would be happy to lock me up in the Gallows. Just think, you could see me all the time!” 

Carver shook his head. “No. You don’t belong in a Circle. It would kill you, like caging up a wild bird who headbutts the bars they’re held in.”

“Nevermind, brother mine. I’m sure the Knight-Commander would have me made Tranquil on arrival,” Hawke joked, the air feeling too heavy all of the sudden. Carver gave him a hard look, one without yield:

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

———————❖———————

The funeral happened, Leandra was burned, and her ashes scattered to the wind. 

It was a few hours that felt like days and by the time he was left alone, Hawke felt like a shell of himself. He sat in his study now with a drink in hand as the main hall was tidied up. He had given everyone the rest of the evening off once that task was accomplished, hoping all the servants would leave and give him space to be alone. To sulk with no one watching.

He was so contrived in thought that he didn’t hear anyone enter nor someone walk up the stairs and place their hands on his shoulders. Hawke felt a little better about this slip when he looked up and saw Fenris and not a murderer. ‘Ghost’ was an apt nickname for the elf in more than one way. 

“Why are you still wearing your fancy suit? Everyone left hours ago.” Fenris asked, his thumb grazing over the top knotch of Hawke’s spine. 

“You left too,” he pointed out.

“Yes, I did. I thought you needed some alone time but from the state of you, I was sorely wrong.”

With a swift movement, Fenris moved over to the little cart where Orana kept empty mugs and cups so Hawke could remember to drink something other than whiskey. He poured some clean water into one and slid it across the desk. “Heat that up. I can't believe I’m saying this, but you need tea and not alcohol.” 

Fenris turned himself away to dig for tea leaves at the speed of lightning, not allowing Hawke an opinion on the matter. Garrett was in no mood to argue anyway, in fact he was happy to do exactly what he was told, and placed his hand on the mug to bring the water to a boil. 

The amount of time it took for Fenris to dig around in the fancy arse jar for Hawke’s favorite tea should have been ample amount of time for the water to be prepared, but as he placed the tea bag in, he found the water lacked any steam, in fact it was still tepid. 

“Well? Are you planning on having it cold or must I witness you cast the spell in an attempt to woo me with your magical prowess?”

Hawke’s gaze was locked on the mug. “Neither. It’s just not working.” 

“What do you mean by ‘it’s not working’ exactly?” Fenris bent himself over to look into the water as if the problem obviously laid there. 

“I don’t know, Fenris! I’m doing what I normally do but nothing is _happening._ It’s like my mana keeps shorting out.” He could feel it, his power radiating in his fingertips. It wasn’t as if Carver had Silenced him before he left or someone drugged him with mage’s bane. It was still there, but when he tried to access it, his magic decided to disobey. 

Suddenly Fenris took a step back. “Oh,” he said, his face still as a statue. 

“Oh? My magic is gone and you’re _‘oh’-ing?”_

“I’ve—seen this before. Back in Minrathous,” There was a note of hesitation in Fenris’ voice as he began, but the fact that he continued made Hawke’s chest ache a little less. “It usually occurs when a mage is in an extremely upset state of some sort. I remember it being compared to when small children come into their powers. Erratic, insolent even.” 

Hawked laughed, but it was dead sounding even to his own ears. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been upset over losing someone and it never happened then. Third time's the charm, I guess.”

“The last two times you were in dangerous situations, weren’t you? I find it doubtful that your magic, which is _you,_ is going to give out right when your life depends on it. But now…”

“Now, I’m safe.” He collapsed forward, hiding his face in the smooth surface of Fenris’ abdomen. 

“Fuck that. That’s not _fair._ None of this is fair.” Garrett’s words were muffled into the fabric, but he refused to pull away from his dark little world that smelled like his lover. Rough hands moved to cradle his head. 

“Nothing is fair, Garrett. If the Maker has a plan, it is an extremely shitty one that I want no part in.” 

Hawke stayed there for a few minutes more before tipping his head back. He decided then that he wanted to sink deeply and drown in those glass green eyes. There would be mercy there. 

“When will it come back?”

Fenris’ hand gently wrapped itself around Hawke’s neck, his thumb caressing the hollow of his throat. “When did it leave?” 

Hawke thought on it, not liking the memories that came to be. There were multiple instances that he had ignored out of lack of attention or fear of what they meant. Bad things came in threes and he wasn’t sure if Bethany and Father’s deaths were too far apart to be counted in the same triplet as Mother’s. “About four days ago. We haven’t done any jobs or anything since... _that._ So I haven’t had a reason to do anything flashy.” 

“Good,” Fenris almost smiled. “It would likely hurt if you tried.” 

“Look at you, so knowledgeable.” 

Hawke felt that hand tighten the slightest bit. A suggestion, maybe. A promise of something else. A different kind of hurt. When Fenris bent down and kissed him, it was like breathing for the first time all day. 

“Fenris,” Hawke whispered, wanting nothing more than the elf to leave a deep bruise where his fingers laid. “Take me to bed.” 

———————❖———————

By some miracle of Andraste, it didn’t happen until they were done. Literally, _right_ as they were done. Fenris’ groan hit the air, Hawke just a handful of seconds behind him, before pulling out and collapsing onto his side of the bed. 

Both men looked up at the red draping, trying to catch their breath after a very vigorous bout of sex and Hawke thought maybe, just maybe, he’d be daze enough to finally fall asleep. His eyes were dangerously close to drooping shut when Fenris spoke up. 

“...What smells like it’s burning?” 

It was then that Hawke noticed it too: the smell of something that had been alight just long enough to crisp the air. Sure, the fireplace was on but… 

For whatever reason, something possessed Hawke to turn onto his side and that’s when he saw it: the throw blanket laying on his chair, slightly on fire. From the center outwards, not from a spark perhaps sourced by the fire but a burnt _hole_ smack dab in the middle of the material. Not to mention that the fireplace was on the opposite side of the room, far far away. 

Before he could get up to put it out, Fenris was there, holding the thing up casually as though it wasn’t alick with flames. 

“You lit a blanket on fire. With your magic.” 

Hawke sat up, brow creased. “I did?” 

“I fucked you so well that you set your ugly Oreleasian quilt on fire.” 

“For Maker’s sake, it’s not _that_ ugly. And could you please stamp on it or something?” Hawke asked. 

“Tell me how great I am in bed and I’ll gladly put it out. Since I’m the cause of it after all.” 

“Andraste’s tits, Fenris. Yes, your dick is the best I’ve ever had. Thank you for blessing us with your presence and I love you very much. Please don’t set the rest of my house on fire.” 

Fenris grunted, but there was a smirk on his face. “Not the best you could do, but I’ll take it since it’s been a stressful day.” He then placed the blanket down and quickly squashed any remaining little flickers of flame out. Hawke watched on, still in shock, wanting so badly to cast an ice spell instead of having to resort to mundane tactics. 

“I haven’t lost control like that since—Maker, since Carver pissed me off so badly I burnt the back of his trousers. I had to be eight, at the most.” He looked down at his hands. They had betrayed him, even if he didn’t really need them to cast spells in the first place. It was the principle of the matter. 

Fenris moved back into bed now that the crisis was averted and pulled Hawke back down. Tucking Hawke into his arms, Fenris kissed him once more. “You’ll get it back under control once everything sets in. You need to stop thinking about it.”

Hawke sighed. Fenris was right. He did need to stop thinking of it, if it really was so out of his control. “How about you distract me again?”

Fenris snorted, but quickly rolled so he was on top of Hawke once more. “ _Again?_ Your refractory period is extremely impressive for a human.” Warm lips traced over lyrium lines of Fenris’ skin, Hawke biting and kissing whatever he could reach. “Very well. But I need a guarantee this won’t end with me on fire.” 

Hawke smiled, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in a while. “Since when have you ever been against heating things up in the bedroom?” 

“Fuck you, Hawke.” 

“Yes, love. That’s the whole point.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke hadn’t planned on taking another job for at least a week—a bereavement period, Cullen had called it at the funeral. Maker, Garrett had never met such a posh Ferelden before. He’d have to annoy Carver for details later because the Knight-Captain’s parents had to be extremely rich farmers, at very least. 

Garrett planned to stay in bed, whether from the melancholy that would spark on and off all day, or because Fenris gave him a limp, it was up to fate to decide. Anddddd Fate decided that Garrett Hawke never got a break. A note came early that morning from Aveline, stating that there were some bandits spotted on the Wounded Coast and _would you please deal with it, Hawke? I’m cut short and the last thing I need is for Meredith to hear of this._

How could Hawke possibly say no to that? Besides, bandits were easy and it was a nice day. So he dragged himself out of bed, threw on his armor and gathered Fenris, Anders, and Merrill. A terrible trio on a good day. Fenris was a trooper about it, surprisingly, and didn’t offer any push back other than looking slightly dead inside. 

Hawke found him extremely attractive when he was all broody. 

“Fenris,” Merrill asked when they were halfway to their location. “Have you ever tried to dye your hair?” 

Fenris scoffed. “No, why would I?” 

“Well because you could dye it such pretty colors with it being white and all. Like a really nice fairy floss pink. Oh, or a pale green to match your lovely eyes! Maybe blue for when you do that glowy thing when you kill people.” 

Fenris opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something sarcastic, but then he caught Hawke’s eyes: “I—don’t think dye would take to my hair, Merrill. Taking an educated guess, I’d say white is not my natural hair color.” 

“Mm,” she nodded in a sort of solidarity, not even finding Fenris’ ability to be nice odd at all. “Yes, I see. The eyebrows. I can’t imagine you with dark hair.” Suddenly she gasped. “We’d almost look like siblings!” 

It was the empty silence in response that made Hawke sure of his hypothesis: Fenris was trying to behave for his sake. There were too many easy ribs, a few things that could hurt (not that Merrill meant it that way, and Garrett _knew_ Fenris knew that) and yet none of them were taken. Reaching out as timidly as Hawke could manage, he squeezed Fenris’ shoulder. 

———————❖———————

The bandits were idiots, but even the most untrained twits could be dangerous in large numbers and _Maker,_ were there a lot of them. The first wave was doable: Merrill took most of them out with a fireball while Hawke and Fenris hacked at those still standing upright. He found fighting beside Fenris actually quite a nice change. From his normal vantage point behind the battle, Hawke rarely ever got to see his lover fight in detail and Andraste preserve him, it did not disappoint. Fenris’ movements were fluid as liquid, glowing like the moons against the water. 

He was happy enough to stand there and watch. And hit things periodically. 

“Hawke! A little help please!” Merrill’s voice rang out in a shrill between sounds of zapping. 

_Right. Note to self: Watching hot boyfriend kill people wasn’t the best thing to do when said people still had a pulse._

With a quick glance in that general direction, he could see that another bloody group of bandits had appeared out of thin air, ganging up on Anders and Merrill separately. Easy enough to fix since he had the advantage of distance. With eyes on his target and a flick of his wrist, Hawke was prepared to feel the pull of the abyss yank half the arseholes down. Instead, because fate is a bitch and Hawke was a dumb as a stuffed nug, _he_ got ripped down to the ground, all while a loud yell bounced and echoed off the cave’s damp walls. 

The bandits had been stunned enough to stop what they were doing and stare, which was enough of a distraction for Merrill to light them all on fire. 

“Garrett Malcom Hawke, stop screaming and let me see!” Anders was suddenly on the dirty ground next to him, pulling Hawke’s arm away from where he was cradling it. 

“Oh,” he sniffled, trying to very poorly hide his glassy eyes. “That sexy screaming was me all along? Here I thought we were one cavern over from an orgy.” 

No one laughed. Not even Merrill and she always laughed at Hawke’s jokes...when she understood them. 

“I told you not to cast, Hawke. That was the whole point of the sword, remember?” Fenris stood in close proximity, looming either over him or Anders. Maybe both. Hawke could never tell and trying to guess would involve cognitive functions he simply didn’t have at the moment. Not when Anders was trying to pump healing magic into his arm. In normal circumstances, it felt good: cooling and gentle like taking a bath after a really bad sunburn but now it felt—foreign, wrong, _sticky._

“Fen, casting is second nature. I didn’t do it on purpose. And you don’t have to admit it, I know I’m shite with a sword.” 

“Wait, hold on. What’s this about you not being able to use magic?” Anders paused his examination and looked between the two men. Hawke answered by groaning. Fenris actually decided to be the grown up: 

“His magic won’t obey him ever since…” Fenris made a random hand motion and Anders obviously caught on to the ‘dead mother’ meaning. 

“Oh, yes. Emotional Interference, that would make the most sense on why I can’t check for injuries. His mana is rejecting mine.” 

Hawke squinted. “Wait. _You_ know about this? Did everyone know this was a thing but me!” 

In a brief moment of glory, one that Garrett would lose his shite at during any other instance, both Anders and Fenris simultaneously responded. “Yes.” 

Hawke just sat there gobsmacked and unable to think of anything funny to say, his arm still held tightly by Anders. 

“It used to happen in the Circles a lot. Especially after Harrowings, seeing as there is so much build up and stress involved. There was always a rumor that the Templars did it on purpose and every Circle had a different excuse as to why: They were mad that another mage passed, they wanted to show who was still in power, they wanted your magic to randomly flare up so there was a valid reason to make you Tranquil. For once, I can’t blame it solely on the Order.” He gently let go of Hawke’s arm.

“Like I said earlier, it’s officially known as Emotional Interference. You refuse to consciously deal with a psychological hurt, so your magic does it for you. The only way to fix it is to stop bottling everything up.” Anders pulled himself back up using his staff, offering a hand to Hawke. Hawke took it, albeit with his nondominant one. You know. The one that didn’t feel like it was set on fire.

“And if I don’t start sobbing and fainting onto couches?” he asked. 

“Then it gets worse. And worse. Until you make a house explode or impale someone on an icicle during Bloomingtide. Then the Templars will make you Tranquil and I suppose you won’t have to worry about emotions at all then,” Anders said in that wonky upbeat way of his. That was what Hawke started referring to as ‘the real Anders’ in his head. The man when he didn’t get all mixed with Justice, who could laugh at nearly everything and could flirt with a wall. He rarely peeked through anymore and it was just another thing added to the list of things stressing Hawke out. 

“I think it’s safe to say no more jobs for the time being,” Fenris stated, not suggested. There was no room for argument in the way he held his body or the tone of his voice. By this point, Hawke knew better than to try. 

He felt fine as they left the cave, but by the time they had descended half way down back to Kirkwall, every drag of Garrett’s feet felt like bench pressing the dog. Fenris was kind enough to let Hawke lean on him all the way into Hightown but as soon as they came to the corner before his estate, Hawke dragged them to a pause. 

“Can we go to your place instead?” he asked. 

Fenris raised a brow. “Really?” 

“I’m guessing your endgame is to put me to bed. If it is, I don’t think I’ll do it very well in my home. It’s like—all my memories have turned into ghosts and everything I touch holds a recollection of some sort. Every step I take, my fuck ups are staring me straight in my face.” 

“Hawke…” Fenris started, but Garrett shook his head. 

“Maybe one days those memories will be good again. Maybe one day I’ll be able to think of all of us together in the past instead of this weird divide with the dead on one side and me and Carver on the other but I can’t now. Please?”

Fenris wrapped an arm around Hawke’s waist and pulled him into the other direction towards the mansion. The door opened with a tug, Fenris didn’t lock it ever. If someone was trying to kill him, they could just walk in and try it. At the very least, he had cleaned up the corpses and broken glass, even gotten clean sheets for the bed. 

Hawke was unceremoniously (but lovingly) thrown onto the bed once they climbed the stairs. He did have quite a few inches on Fenris, though he was in no denial that the elf could deadlift him if need be. 

Dead. 

Right. That’s what got Hawke here in the first place. 

He only opened his eyes when he felt hands on him again, pulling away bits of his armor. Fen was already out of his, shirtless other than his leggings. Once the overly ornamented chest piece was removed, Garrett felt like he could almost breathe again. 

“Let’s run away.” 

“Oh?” Fenris humored him. He was more focused on the annoying buckle that kept Hawke’s pauldron in place than its owner’s ramblings. “Where to?” 

“Ferelden. I miss Ferelden. I hear they’re rebuilding a lot of places.” 

Fenris hummed; not in agreement or disagreement but merely to respond. Garrett wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. 

“I’ve never been that far South. Am I going to freeze my arse off?” 

“Oh Void, are you.” Garrett smiled. He was getting delirious from lack of...everything. “Autumn here is Summer weather in Ferelden. There are mountains. The people are a lot nicer and way less likely to kill you. Lots of dogs and alcoholic cider. The mage situation is sort of better too. Better than here, anyhow. And since the Blight, better than it was my whole childhood.”

He knew Fenris still wasn’t a fan of magic and Hawke was the only mage he really trusted to be outside of a Circle, but it was part of their shared existence. Right now, his situation as an apostate was cushy and unheard of, but he would be a massive idiot if he thought that would last forever. At least from what he heard, the ruler of Ferelden wasn’t actively trying to find apostates anymore and simply let them be as long as they weren’t causing trouble. It was a step in the right direction, as far as Hawke was considered. He’d also heard in small murmurings that the Grand Enchanter was a force to be reckoned with and could probably kill Meridith with a single smoldering look. He’d never had the pleasure of meeting her, fuck, even seeing her, but she was his hero automatically by story alone. 

Was Hawke ranting to himself? Yes. Hawke was ranting to himself. He also suddenly was covered by a blanket that smelled deliciously like Fenris.

“We can run away once this is all settled. You can show me your home and listen to me whine about freezing to death. But for right now, you need to sleep. Healer’s orders and you know it pains me to admit the Abomination is right about something. That alone should show my concern.”

“I both love and hate when you’re concerned,” Hawke mumbled, rolling over to his stomach. “It’s nice though. Having someone take care of me for once. Weird, but I like it. Is that bad?” 

Fenris was frozen for a moment before shaking his head. “No, Garrett. It’s not bad. Go to sleep now you mush, and maybe I’ll be able to find some edible by the time you wake up.” 

“Okay,” he said, acting almost drunk except without the nice buzz before the hangover. He didn’t feel Fenris’ eyes hovering on him as he finally fell into something sort of like sleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke slept, and slept, and slept. He awoke from the strangest nightmare, its remnants still clinging to his mind like congealed blood to a knife. It was an exceedingly odd thing: Mother had died, Garrett’s magic got fucked up, and Fenris and Anders were being nice to each other. 

Obviously a dream. 

Hawke lifted his arms from beneath the covers to stretch and remembered.

This was all real.

_Motherfucker._

He willed himself not to cry because he was an adult. He didn’t _need_ to cry. People died every day, Hawke certainly wasn’t special in that regard. And Carver was doing fine and absolutely not crying. Maybe he’d stab an extra mage to release some of his feelings, but at least that was part of his job and might offer him a promotion. Meredith _would_ promote someone solely based on their kill count. She’s a fucking psycho. 

Hawke wondered if her parents were dead. Did she have parents? No, there was no way Meredith was ever a child. Not possible. She shot out of the ground straight from the Void, fully formed and yelling. Was her crown thing glued to her head? Did she sleep with it on? No, no, she probably didn’t sleep either because if she did, someone so would have assassinated her by now. 

He gazed back down at his arm and tried to imagine a ball of flame in his hand, the warm feeling of fire, the sound it made when it hit the intended target. “ _Ow.”_ Hawke frowned a pain shot up his arm and no spell was cast. Nothing. It felt worse than chugging a gallon of magebane. 

“Didn’t we have a conversation about you not doing precisely that?” 

Hawke looked up from his sorrows to see Fenris holding what looked to be a breakfast tray. He strutted in, placing it down on the bed. “There’s actual food on this,” Garrett said in mild surprise.

“Yes. I do have to eat sometimes.”

“Who would have thought.” 

Fenris rolled his eyes and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Shut up and eat, Hawke.” 

He looked over the plate. Fruit, toast, tea. All things Hawke normally enjoyed, especially when hung over, and even though it looked and smelled appealing, he couldn’t imagine eating it. “Sorry, love. I’m not very hungry.” 

Fenris raised a brow. “The last time I saw you eat was yesterday and that was a piece of hardtack.”

“Have you eaten?” Hawke asked. Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Yes.”

Or not. 

“Hawke, you’re double my size and a good half foot taller than me. You need to eat something.”

“You know how I said that it’s sort of nice having someone take care of me? Yeah, I renounce that. Let’s go back to pretending you hate me while I flirt with you.”

Fenris snicked. “Oh, it’s much too late for that. Besides, you don’t have to like it, but you do have to deal with it. You’re not dying on my watch, else I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Hawke stared down at the food, jamming his finger into a raspberry before popping it into his mouth. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

———————❖———————

It happened when Hawke started cleaning the next day. He knew it annoys Orana beyond measure, and normally he wouldn’t dare coming into her own zone, but he’ was going crazy. He needed to do _something_.

Somehow that something turned into him going through the chinaware. There’s a lot of it and some of it was too fancy for everyday use so he sorted it as best he can. Plates from Antiva that he found in a cave somewhere? Weirdly too nice. Odd shaped bowl some dignitary gave him after becoming champion? He could eat burnt porridge out of that without guilt. 

That was when he found it. All the way in the back, gathering dust, was a single chipped teacup. It was not a particularly nice cup, but he cradled it in his hands anyway. 

_“Mama, Bethy did it! Not me!”_

_Leandra sighed but there was a smile on his face. “Bethany did it, hm? All the way from the crib? I wasn’t aware the twins started walking.” She bent down to be eye level with Garrett. “Well, if she did break my cup, I hope she knows I wouldn’t be mad. Accidents happen, of course, but I would be upset if she lied.”_

_Garrett swallowed, tears glittering in his eyes. “You wouldn’t be mad? Promise?”_

_“I promise.”_

He wasn’t even sure if that was the same cup because how the fuck would it get here from Ferelden? Had Mother brought it with her? Did it really matter? 

For the first time in a long time, Garrett cried.

———————❖———————

By that evening, Hawke felt weakened beyond measure as Fenris held him close, murmuring little things to him. Every time he thought his body had run dry, another well of tears appeared. 

“Did I kill her?”

Fenris fell completely silent for a moment, his hand stilling on Hawke’s back. He didn’t take that as a good sign. 

“Garrett, if it was anyone else I’d ask if they were being serious. _No_. You did not kill her. You tried to save her, I was there. I know how you are, and I know you must torture yourself about everything beyond your control, but you’re only a man. You cannot control the actions of others.”

“Ah,” Hawke sniffled. “So I’m not a god. I had been wondering…”

“No, but I am. I’m actually the Dread Wolf. Didn’t you know?” Fenris hummed.

“See, that’s not fair. I have no idea who that actually is, other than I’m pretty sure ‘May the Dread Wolf take you’ is the elvish version of ‘fuck you.’”

Fenris’ palm hesitantly started moving across Hawke’s skin again. “I can read to you, if you’d like. We can be perplexed by Dalish curse words together.” Garrett went to open his mouth to agree but was sharply caught off before any came out. “That is, after you try to cast a spell.” 

Hawke’s brow furrowed, his skin feeling sticky with the reminisce of crying. “Didn’t you just lecture me yesterday about not using magic?”

“Yes, well, yesterday you were showing the same amount of emotion as a bored Qunari and it’s been quite some time since you accidentally set anything aflame. I believe it’s worth a try.” 

He would trust Fenris with the world, with his whole life and being, but there was something comforting in the unknown. Right then, the ignorance of the situation offered some sort of comfort: perhaps he couldn’t do magic, or perhaps he could. It was anyone’s guess. But if he tried and couldn’t…“Just a small one, Garrett. Do that thing where you make sparks from your fingers.” Fenris didn’t allow Hawke to meditate on it, grabbing the other’s hand and holding it up. 

It was one of the first things Hawke had ever learned to do with his magic, and he had entertained Carver and Bethany with it for hours. It became so effortless so quickly, but now, as he attempted such a simple trick, it felt like it was the first time all over again. Like if he looked over his shoulder, Malcolm would be standing there, telling him not to think too hard lest his eyes pop out of his head. He lifted his gaze to tell Fenris off, that _‘See? It didn’t work,’_ right as small zaps of blue electricity danced along his finger tips, bouncing as he wiggled his hand like puppets on a string. “ _I did it,”_ he gasped. 

“You did, love.” 

Tears sprung up again, but this time they were tinted by happiness, even if they were equally surprising and not completely welcomed. “I’m not broken anymore.” 

“Garrett, you were never broken. You are many things, but never that.” 

If he used the rest of the night to cast nearly every useless spell he’d ever learned, well, that was Hawke’s own business and Fenris looked nothing but entertained by the notion. They both lost so many things over the years, some in what felt like completely different lives to the one they shared now. Perhaps they would lose more (their joint track record was pointing towards that being a likelihood in the future) and gain even less. But the key to it, Garrett was learning, was to let go of what you could no longer control. Moving on hurt, but lingering brought a harder sort of ache. 

Yes, Garrett Hawke certainly didn’t have it all together, likely never would, but he was quickly learning that even chipped teacups had their uses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on twitter @legendariumm for more dragon age nonsense


End file.
